Chapter Text
MIG-WS (acronym) Manual-Interfacing Gyroscopic-Weapons System. A proprietary weapons platform designed for close-quarters combat, motorized maneuvering, and mobile artillery.
See also: MIG-IS (acronym) Manual-Interfacing Gyroscopic-Industrial System. A proprietary platform utilized in all heavy industry, particularly in vacuum. The MIG-WS derived from MIG-IS [The Deceseres Mandate Dictionary, First Edition].
"RUN!" MODCOM screamed. His voice crackled in Ajax's audial implant. "102, you have to get out of there!"
The pilot had come to a similar conclusion without MODCOM Galen's input. The ground rumbled underneath Dynamis' talon-like feet with every new percussive blast. It was carnage. Skyscrapers were skinned of their windows, revealing the skeletal structure underneath.
Dynamis, eighteen meters tall, sixty-two metric tons, heavy rail gun in the right arm and chain gun in the left, was an alloyed colossus. Humanity had been around for eons, and in that time the development of warfare was at the top of mind. Ten thousand years after ancient empires sprung up around river floodplains, using spears and blades, the ancient humans might've seen Dynamis or the other MIG-WS units as gods. With every stride on its pneumatically-sprung legs, Ajax—serial number 102 of the fourth generation—pushed Dynamis fifty meters through the air. Low-slung buildings were kneecapped, reduced to rubble and dust. But the beast behind Dynamis would be rightly called a demon. The mounted miniguns on the shoulders of the MIG rattled and screamed with a cascade of shells and a blur of barrels glowing dull red.
The motion and recoil and violence of maneuvering in a MIG loosed a bead of sweat down Ajax 102's brow and dropped into her eye. It burned. Warning lights and alarms constantly flooded the cockpit, and Ajax felt them all just as viscerally. Fiberoptics led from the machine's sensory plenum, flashing and twitching with electrochemical neuro-stimulus, into Ajax's back. Surgically-implanted ports accepted the cables and made the musculature of the pilot twitch and writhe violently. Ajax's eyes were wide not from pain, but from the massive claw that had appeared in the display. The fiberoptics glowed solid white. The pilot frothed at the mouth. The cockpit collapsed like the core of a star, and all Ajax saw was black.
Deceseres Corporation.
DSN-400102 (102).
MIG-WS: Dynamis.
Nomen prius: Ajax [REDACTED].
Wing Assignment: Primus.
Ajax is a 23 Standard Year-old male from Beta Orionis B, orphaned from a young age following an industrial accident. He scored within the 'Perfect' range on the StaCap exam. Empathy and Compassion scores were in the top 99th percentile of all MIG pilots throughout the history of Deceseres' MIG program.
Ajax woke up with a gasp, then a wince. Her implants ached. She rolled over in the night and laid on the input prods which lined her spine and scapulae. She scratched at her shoulder and bared her teeth.
Muttering, she directed, "Computer, log wake-up."
"Logged," the computer voice whirred. The blackout windows transitioned from a red-black curtain to the spilling iridescent-blue light of Rigel across the metallic floor, sweeping towards the bed. Ajax squinted at the imposing light before the star swung away from the window, leaving the artificial light to do its job.
"Computer?" she strained.
"Awaiting inquiry," it replied obediently.
"Shut off the sun," Ajax groaned, pulling a plain white shirt over her torso. The ache was fading, but the pilot knew it wouldn't go away.
A quiet error tone buzzed and Ajax's shoulders tensed. Her fears were escalated, she scanned out the window for threats, and her fingers manipulated empty air, grasping for a control column that wasn't there.
When the computer said, "Invalid request," Ajax deflated, exhausted, at her outburst.
After a penitent pause, and another swathe of Rigel's blue light crossed her room, the lanky pilot slouched out of bed, reaching thin brown fingers towards the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a pair of black slacks. The decad's worth of clothes were all identical. Everyone in her Wing had them, too. Ajax was distinguished by a length of long, black hair which rode around shoulder-length. In zero-G, her hair whipped around like an angry sea. Prods from the implant poked a tent into the back of her shirts, and made it look like she had more of a hunch-back than she actually did.
The feeling of fabric over the metallic parts of her were still slightly alien, even three years after first implantation. The first six decads after the surgeries were horrid, any move to lay down on her sides or her back produced sharp pains that conveyed the length of her spine. "It's normal," the doctors said. "The body should be accommodating to the foreign objects soon enough." But as far as Ajax was concerned, that never really happened.
The computer beeped at her as she reached the door to her unit. She stood at attention, staring forwards at the door, and the sensors in the room took that as input. "Message from MODCOM Galen Blalock, received six hours ago. Message follows."
A click, the sound of rustling, then the voice so often in Ajax's head spoke. "102, MODCOM here. We've been assigned a new mission. Report immediately to central axis."
Ajax blinked. Galen Blalock, module communicator, continued.
"I've already packed my bags. Don't be late."
Expectation rattling around in her head, Ajax turned back to her room. The barren interior resembled more an equipment closet than living quarters. The regimented cleanness of the space added to the effect. She slowly and methodically pulled out the remaining decad of clothes, knowing that they will be recycled after being worn and she will be issued with new ones when she needs them. She fit them into a simple backpack, and although she already had her bulky pilot suit resting at the bottom it was still mostly empty of affects. She did not have anything else to bring.
When she made one last glance over the room, she noticed the alarm clock on her bedside table, its display dark. She blinked before walking gently over to the small cube-shaped device. She picked it up, looking at the battery compartment, and noticed the cable unplugged. Did I do that last night? She thought. She shook her head, unsure.
She slung her backpack around her shoulders, and the prods dug into her bones again. She made no indication of discomfort, she simply directed the computer to turn off the lights and opened the door to her unit.
The hallway outside curved upwards. The sensation of the station's rotation only making itself apparent as the light of the star swung between the windows of the station, sweeping across the metal gantries and floor plating every minute. The spin-station rotated dutifully, and Ajax walked anti-spinward.
A ladder protruded from the ceiling, and climbing until her feet left the rungs and she could gently pull herself up by her hands, then ultimately losing the centrifugal gravity all together, she drifted towards the core of the station. Her dream replayed in her mind, and it caused no small amount of anxiety to curl itself up in its stomach. The sensation was doubled by the feeling of her internal organs taking to zero-G.
The central axis was largely empty. Ajax knew she was the last one to leave, and that MODCOM would be upset. She steeled herself for that, but what's more was the expectation of the upcoming transport. There was no way to prepare for that.
The pilot set her velcro socks down on the padded floor, and stood at attention. The computer bleeped, and a projector whirred to life.
"102!" MODCOM Blalock yelled from the projection. His space was occupied by a 6-pointed star flanked by daggers. Whenever he spoke, the image brightened before falling into silhouette. "You are late for the briefing! Do I not hold your respect, Pilot?"
Ajax flinched. "I respect you, sir," she whispered.
"Then why are you not on time?" the faceless hologram took a breath. "There better be a reason."
The pilot bowed her head. "There's no excuse, sir. I was asleep. I'll do better."
"Turn on your alarm then, Pilot. You damn well do better," the star commanded. A sharp breath followed, then MODCOM Blalock started, calmer, "Honor guard duty on Mars. Report to Ares City. We are to be perfect for the Mandamus. The delinquincy you've demonstrated just today should be enough, but I can't discharge you. The Primus Wing needs to be in full force."
"Yes, sir," Ajax responded automatically.
"Risk analysis is near nil. There should be no issues unless you make them, 102." Galen sighed. "What am I to do with you, Pilot?"
"I won't disappoint you, sir," Ajax remained almost perfectly still. The line disconnected.
Ajax stood for a moment before ripping her socks free of the velcro floor and floated to the other end of the axis, where an iris hatch revealed the cavernous MIG hangar, rotating steadily around the distant portal to the blackness of vacuum. Grasping and sliding down the long ladder to the floor, she felt gravity pull her again. Eight bays could fit in this hangar, and all but one of them were vacant. Reaching the bay labeled 102, she flipped the breakers and the massive gantries and cranes creaked to life. They began moving distant strands of ammunition and spider-like steaming pipes of fuel, and lights bursting with amber shone down on Dynamis.
Dynamis loomed at eighteen stalwart meters. Ajax took a seat near the breaker box on a bench that protruded from the service bunker at the foot of the MIG. She heard the long lines of minigun rounds and steel railgun slugs snaking their way into the dark torso of the MIG unit. The clattering of machines and ordnance filled the huge space with noise, but Ajax was all by herself. "Very late," the pilot huffed to herself. She opened the bag on her back and retrieved her pilot suit.
She stripped there and pulled the heavy, unwieldy neoprene and kevlar contraption, snaking with cables and tubes, up her legs. Ajax pushed her fingers into the gloves and zipped up the thin front of the device. She jiggled the back unit until magnets lined up with her implants, snapping together with a hard clack. She glanced at her wrist monitor: Status Green. Ammo at 96%. Fuel 100%. Capacitors 100%. Gyroscopes 0% Saturation. She glanced up at Dynamis
The dark, unilluminated sensor packs on the guidance and control unit on the front of her MIG stared out, absorbing every nanometer of the electromagnetic spectrum. Pareidolia tricked everyone who looked at the machine into seeing a face there. People said they looked soulless or empty, but Ajax would be looking out of them in short order. They were her eyes.
A haptic indicator rumbled her fingertips. Ajax jumped, looking to the hands of the machine. High on a gantry was a silhouette, running its palm across the fingertips of one of Dynamis' hands. The length between the fingertip and the first knuckle were as large as the figure's torso, who glanced down at the hangar floor. When their eyes landed on Ajax, now marching towards the elevator which ran up the front of Dynamis, they waved.
Ajax fumed, and began running. "Get away from there!" she yelled, mustering as much authority as she could. The figure leaned out over the railing of the gantry before turning and moving towards the chest of the MIG.
The elevator felt like it was going interminably slow, but when she finally made it to the top Ajax had her fists clenched, ready to throw punches.
But no one was up there. She searched around the back of the unit to no avail. Yelling, a rage engulfing her, "Where are you, intruder?"
Three slow knocks from the inside of Dynamis' cockpit followed.
"No you fucking don't," Ajax whispered.
She flung open the hatch, reached in, grasped at the collar of a shirt, and dragged the interloper onto the grate.
"Who are you?!" the pilot screamed, inches from the face of a woman who couldn't be much older than Ajax herself. Short purple hair and square-frame glasses flanked her grin.
"Dryas. Nice to meet you," she said, unflinching.
"Tell me why I shouldn't strangle you right now," Ajax said through gritted teeth, fist balling up the front of Dryas' shirt.
"With those arms? Besides, you couldn't even wrap your hands around my wrist." She answered easily, and that made Ajax more angry. "I'm not here to hurt you, just to talk."
The tall, narrow pilot, umbilicals dangling from her back, looming over the intruder, who rested easily on the grating, inspired no fear. Ajax stammered in frustration, weakened her grasp, and sighed. She released Dryas with a flick of her wrist and the intruder fell onto the gantry.
"Don't touch my MIG."
"Well," Dryas said lightly, sitting up against the railing. She looked up at the face of the machine. "It's not yours, really."
Ajax about exploded at her, but restrained herself. "Of course it's mine. The seat only fits me."
"It's Decha property, though, yeah?" Dryas patted the ground beside her. "Sit. You're stressing me out."
Ajax remained standing. "Everything in here is Deceseres Corporation property."
"Even you?" She glanced up at the pilot with worried eyes.
Ajax flinched. "Wh-." The thought perplexed her. She controlled her routine, so long as she performed on missions. "I do have a contract, but I-"
"Ah, so it's just an indenture," the intruder said with a tinge of sarcasm.
Just an indenture.
The words rattled Ajax. "I'm-. You're one to talk, who even are you?"
Dryas held out her hand expectantly. A pause.
"Hm?" she tilted her head.
Ajax blinked. "What?"
"Help me up!" Dryas huffed. "Some knight you are. Chivalry is dead."
"You broke in here all by yourself, you can stand up yourself!" Ajax crossed her arms. "I should be arresting you."
Dryas rolled her eyes and slowly stood up. She was a good six inches shorter than Ajax, and the pilot had to look down to meet her eyes. The intruder muttered, "I'd like to see you try."
"I'm serious!" Ajax cried. "You're trespassing on Deceseres Corporation property! You may have tampered with my MIG!"
"Again, not your MIG," Dryas answered coldly.
"What do you want?" Ajax asked, her shoulders tensed.
"A ride," the intruder said, glancing at Dynamis.
Ajax let her mouth drop open. She gesticulated wildly, gasping at words to say, but couldn't find them. She closed her eyes, put her hands down by her side, and took a breath. "I can't take you. That is against code, but you don't care about code. Obviously. So, you can't come because I don't have enough rations for two, but you probably know that. So, you can't come because you're obviously insane and will put the both of us in danger."
Ajax counted off on her fingers.
"And if those reasons aren't good enough for you, you can't even fit in there!" Ajax shouted, her voice boomed around the empty hangar. "The seat is molded to my body, surrounded by blast-proof armor and non-Newtonian gel. Nowhere for you to even go."
Dryas let the pilot rattle off her excuses, and eventually, when she stopped, she smiled. "Put me in your holster," she said simply.
"That's where the handgun goes." Ajax didn't expect the average person to know much about MIGs, but this felt to her like a new low of misunderstanding.
"So take it out." Dryas chuckled, "It seems like you don't want me to go."
"I don't! Hitchhike on some freighter!"
"I thought you were nice," Dryas pouted. "Fine. I'll offer you 100,000 credits DC."
"Did you break in somewhere to get those, too?"
The intruder only laughed.
"Wait," Ajax gasped. "You did, didn't you!"
"No, no." Dryas swept her bangs out of her eyes. "Legitimate credits, for what it's worth."
Ajax scoffed. "Do you even know where I'm going?"
"Life isn't about the destination, it's all about the journey," Dryas sarcastically swept her hand across a distant horizon. Ajax slapped it down.
"Answer me. Do you know where I'm going?" Ajax tightened her fists.
Dryas sighed. "Yeah."
"How?" she asked sharply.
"I caught your briefing." Dryas inspected her nails. "Do you let your owner treat you that way all the time?"
"You listened in on a classified Deceseres Defense briefing, that's like thirty years in a penal colony alone." Ajax was almost breathless. "Why?"
"I need to go to Ares City."
"Are you going to at least give me a reason to help you?" Ajax pleaded.
Dryas smiled. "More than 100,000 credits? Fine." She stepped towards the pilot, placing a finger under her chin. "You look like you could use the company."
Ajax scoffed and slapped her hand away. "I'm fine."
"The files I read still call you male, even while you look like… that," Dryas looked down to the pilot's chest. Underneath the suit were modestly-sized breasts. The tight material did not help in hiding them.
"It's a common genetic condition," Ajax deflected.
"And your third-person diary just so happens to be about another Ajax, who pilots another Dynamis," the intruder tilted her head and wore sarcasm heavy in her voice. "Who's a girl?"
Ajax stepped backwards and, quietly, said, "You… you read my logs?"
"You're quite a good pilot! When you wake up in the morning."
Ajax flashed like a cat, gripping Dryas' neck tight. Her knuckles turned white, and the intruder gasped for air, eyes displaying that fear she wanted.
But something within her squirmed. Ajax hesitated, her eyes softened, and just like that Dryas kicked out from under the slender pilot, leveraging herself up and placing an elbow squarely on Ajax's neck.
"You listen to me, Pilot," Dryas rasped. "You're taking me to Ares City. I know people. I know who you are, and I know what you are. You'll be the good attack dog that you are and you'll do what I say. Or…"
Dryas pressed all her weight into her arm, against the desperate pilot's neck, her knees keeping Ajax's legs from thrashing. She lowered herself down to Ajax's ear, brushing aside a lock of hair to fully expose it and whispered, "I pull the leash, yeah?"
Ajax nodded quickly, tapping at Dryas' arm. She mouthed, "Yeah, yeah."
Dryas moved to look sharply into Ajax's eyes, holding the choke for another couple long seconds, then she released.
Gasping, grasping for purchase on the metal floor, Ajax crawled away. She tried to speak but couldn't. She tried to breathe, but only coughed. She tried to stand, but stumbled. Dryas easily took to her feet and easily swept her hair over her shoulder.
"You're pathetic outside of that thing," Dryas muttered just loud enough for Ajax to hear.
"They didn't recruit me for my hand-to-hand," Ajax squeaked, her breath still not recovering.
"Top 99th percentile in compassion and empathy," the interloper stood up, extending a hand to the pilot. "You're good people, Pilot. That's why I came to you."